


STRANGLEHOLD

by saberteeth



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Could Be Interpreted as Either, Extremely Dubious Consent, Knotting, Loss of Virginity, M/M, POV Alternating, Peter Hale's Alpha Form, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:07:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27339919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saberteeth/pseuds/saberteeth
Summary: “You want the bite so bad?” A long, yellowed nail drags itself across Stiles’ cheek, making him shudder. “Consider this my price.”Prompt fill: Peter/Stiles season 1 extreme-dubcon-bordering-on-noncon (interpret how you wish) with alpha form werewolf sex!
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 16
Kudos: 105





	STRANGLEHOLD

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mpdghoul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mpdghoul/gifts).



> TEEN WOLF FIC?? IN 2020?? MORE LIKELY THAN YOU THINK
> 
> alright, so, at the beginning of quarantine some friends and i decided to rewatch seasons 1-3b for the first time in YEARS. like since the seasons were originally airing. it made us remember how horny this show was, and uh, here we are, lol
> 
> for an irl friends fic exchange, a friend prompted me with the quote in the summary, and the following: "Peter kidnaps Stiles (literally the timeline of this can be WHENEVER, feel free to smush it into canon somewhere or just do your thing) and rapes him strikes a non-negotiable deal for the bite. I’d love the focus of this to be Peter really getting off on the power and control – maybe it’s a “Say you don’t want the bite, and I’ll let you go” thing, but god does Stiles want the bite, and Peter knows it. Maybe Stiles is willing, but only in the sense that he’s getting something out of it in the end. This can be noncon or dubcon, totally up to the author! "
> 
> HOPE I DID IT JUSTICE!!!!! i lowkey wrote this in a fugue state and barely read over it so so sorry if there's typos or grammar mistakes/something doesn't make sense, feel free to drop a comment!
> 
> HEED THE TAGS, GO FORTH AND ENJOY!

“Look, you still need Scott’s username and password, and I’m sorry, but I don’t know them.”

_ Lie. You’re lying. _

“You know both of them.”

_ Dammit. _

“No – no, I don’t,” he tries, but it sounds weak even to his own ears.

“Even if I couldn’t hear your heartbeat, I would still be able to tell that you’re lying,” says Peter, softly. Stiles is very aware that Peter is a taller man, an older man, and a stronger man. Not a man at all. A wolf. A stronger wolf, who could hurt him.

But because his mouth is always three steps ahead of his brain, he tries one more time.

“Dude, I swear to god –”

_ SLAM. _

His head makes contact with the metal of the trunk, and it makes his vision go fuzzy with tiny little orange and black dots. He makes to raise his head, but Peter has a grip on him, and there is no way for his skinny little second string ass to resist it.

“I can be very persuasive, Stiles,” he says, in that same soft tone.  _ God, _ it drives Stiles crazy. When he went into sophomore year hoping for more excitement, he meant like...losing his virginity by having sex with Lydia Martin, or something. Not fighting off goddamned  _ werewolves. _ But of course, he thinks, ear chilling against the metal, he can’t even do that.

Always the sidekick. The comic relief. God, it was irritating, and he was irritated with himself. He didn’t want to give in. Because that’s precisely what everybody would think of the human.

“Okay,” he grits out, his teeth clenched in anger. “Persuade me, then.”

“Are you sure you want me to do that?” Peter asks, a light conspiratorial tone.

“Yes,” he spits, and is surprised to find that he isn’t lying.

Peter must know that too, by the cheshire grin that climbs up his face. Good. Stiles is sick of being the weak human in this narrative. Let Peter do his worst, at least he’ll be at the center of the action.

“You’re going to wish you hadn’t said that,” he laughs, low and under his breath. “But so be it.”

He lets Stiles up, and it happens so fast that Stiles’ vision goes as hazy as it had when his head had slammed against the trunk. In an instant, Peter has rammed a knee into his legs, forcing him back down, driving his head back down so hard Stiles thinks that it might leave a dent.

“Don’t you –” he struggles, stops. “I thought you wanted to find Derek. Aren’t we on a timer?”

“Then I guess you’d better give in fast,” says Peter. Five fingers wrap themselves around Stiles’ neck, warm in the cold of the parking garage, each of them tipped with claws. They press, enough to indent, but not enough to break skin. It’s almost enough to distract him from the way Peter’s left hand curls around his thigh and squeezes, shredding through the fabric.

But not quite.

“Hey – what are you – what are you doing, man?”

He bucks his hips, trying to throw Peter off, but of course, he’s nowhere near strong enough.

“I’m persuading you.”

Peter grabs at his crotch, then, hard and fast, and for the first time, Stiles is legitimately scared. He knew what Peter was capable of: it was hard to forget when you were getting molested over the trunk of a car that held a dead body in it. But Peter needed Scott, and killing Stiles was one way to guarantee that that didn’t happen.

But raping Stiles wasn’t off the table. Stiles was sure Peter had a whole number of things he could dangle over his head to get him to never utter a word of the transgression to Scott, and he’d to it, too. Stiles took risks to get rewards, but he had a number of weak spots, and he knew it. It seemed that Peter, despite barely having spoken to him, knew it too.

“Fine!” he says, bitterness shrouding his voice. “Fine, will you just – get off of me, dude, seriously.”

He does not. Peter’s grip tightens around Stiles’ neck, one hand still over his cock, and his traitorous dick has reacted by getting hard. Peter’s lips ghost over his neck; his breath is hot, and his teeth sharp.

“Just remember,” he says, nearly a whisper. “If you lie, it will cost you.”

Stiles nods.

After a pause, Peter releases him, and Stiles hurries to stand up, tries to think about something depressing to get his half-hard dick back to softness.

“Okay,” Stiles says. “Give me the computer.”

Peter hands it over, jerking his chin toward the keyboard. “Tick tock, Stiles.”

Stiles raises his hands innocent, blowing out a breath before leaning over to type, fingers moving over the keys innocently.

“His username is allison? And his password is...also allison?”

“Still want him in your pack?”

Peter glares. “You’re not getting Scott out of this, Stiles. Remember how persuasive I can be? I’m sure you’d hate for that to happen to your best friend.”

Right. Stiles shakes his head, and gestures back to the computer.

“Well, it looks like they’re keeping Derek in his...own house?” His voice crawls upward at the end, curling into a question.

But Peter doesn’t look confused.

“Not in it. Under it.”

He doesn’t elaborate, but this seems to mean something to Peter. Stiles looks at him.

“So…”

Peter turns back around, looking at him appraisingly. It’s not a pleasant look to be on the receiving end of, and Stiles feels like an object. Peter’s lip curls lecherously, and Stiles winces.

“You know, Stiles. This is a big help. You scratched my back, I’ll scratch yours. How about –”

Stiles grimaces, knowing where this is going. He gives Peter a disgusted look, spitting out his response.

“I don’t wanna fuck you, dude, what the hell?”

Peter laughs, god, Stiles wishes he would stop that haughty sound.

“Interesting that that’s where your mind goes. But no. I was going to offer the bite.”

The bite? Stiles’ world, which has been running on adrenaline and 100 miles per hour all evening, grinds to a halt. Scott would fucking kill him. Scott would kill him, not wanting him to be caught up in this shit more than he already is, Jackson would kill him out of jealousy, like he’d nearly done to Scott, he’d make an enemy of the hunters, he’d have to lie to his father about where he goes every full moon, but… 

Those were just the cons. The pros so clearly seemed to outweigh them. Heightened senses, cures from sickness, fuck, first string in lacrosse… Scott got the girl right after turning, maybe Stiles would too. He could protect everybody he loved, especially his father. He was already good at getting out of dangerous situations as a human, as a wolf he’d be… well, unstoppable. He was sick of being looked at as the human, too weak to get involved in the exciting parts of everything. He didn’t want to be in Peter’s pack. But if his best friend was going to be forced into it, he wanted to be by Scott’s side.

“Fine.”

Peter’s eyebrows raise.

“Really? Well, I’ll be delighted to have you as a beta. Where shall we go, then? We’re not going to do this in a parking lot.”

Stiles eyes him suspiciously. “I saw Scott get bitten, dude, it takes like one second. It healed  _ fast. _ Just  _ do it, _ weren’t you worried about your nephew a second ago?”

Peter waves his hand. “He’ll survive. I think. I hope. But if he doesn’t, I’ll have you, won’t I?”

Wait. No. Stiles isn’t going to be responsible for anybody’s death, and he shakes his head, backing up against the car.

“Okay, nevermind. I’m not getting Derek killed, the fuck?”

The lights of the garage flicker as Peter rounds the car to corner Stiles against it, gripping his chin. Stiles fights the urge to spit.

“Don’t worry about Derek. He’ll be alright. You want this Stiles, you know it. Now, we’re not doing this here, where anybody could walk out any moment. Get in the car.”

Shit, Peter is  _ right.  _ He doesn’t want to be alone with him any longer than he has to, but he  _ wants _ the bite, before he can think better of it and change his mind. He wants this. He does. So he bites his lip, but nods, getting in the passenger seat, and does his best to forget about the body in the trunk.

“Let’s go to the school locker rooms, then. Nobody will bother us there.”

Enough wack shit has happened there. What’s a measly werewolf bite?

* * *

Stiles leads Peter into the locker rooms, still marveling at how the school hasn’t gotten any better security considering...everything. The lights buzz loudly even to Stiles’ human senses, and he wonders how Peter feels, if that’s grating on his werewolf ears. If it’ll be grating on  _ Stiles’ _ ears, soon. Peter doesn’t seem too occupied with investigating their surroundings, though, surveying the bench in front of them with a thoughtful look on his face. Stiles doesn’t like that.

“Ooookay,” he says, hoping to get Peter’s attention. “So, we’re alone. Let’s do this, so you can go get Derek.”

“Right,” comes Peter’s voice, suddenly right next to his ear, and Stiles whips around. “We’re alone.”

And with that, his hands wrap around Stiles from the back, grabbing his arms and lifting his knee to flip him around and onto the bench. His body comes over Stiles next, wrapping around his wrists hard enough to bruise, leaning down into him, pinning him against the bench. He is a full grown alpha werewolf, and although Stiles bucks around, his strength is no match for Peter’s.

He produces rope seemingly from nowhere, and if his body weight weren’t enough, Stiles is certainly bound now, and his wrists begin to rub raw as he struggles against his restraints.

Brain running at the speed of light, he resorts to his usual weapon, his mouth, hoping he can talk his way out of this. Because it is suddenly all too apparent that Peter does not intend to simply give him the bite and be on his merry way, and Stiles feels so fucking stupid for trusting him. For leading them  _ here, _ the empty locker room at a vacant school. Shit, he is such an  _ idiot. _

“Hey, what the fuck, dude? Let me go!”

Peter leans closer, a maddeningly nonchalant sway to his hips as he lazily moves them behind Stiles.

“And why would I want to do that?”

“Um, to save your nephew? The reason you wanted my help in the first place? Just bite me and let’s  _ go, _ Peter.”

Peter chuckles.

“I’ve told you. Derek’s a big boy. He can take care of himself. I’ve found something much more interesting to do in the meantime.”

Stiles spits, turning his head toward Peter.

“Dude, that is so fucked up.”

“Is it?” comes Peter’s voice in his ear.

He feels the palm on his back, first, then a knee in between his ass. God, Peter is serious. He’s going to rape Stiles, right here, on the fucking bench of the locker room he changes in every day for lacrosse practice. Shit, maybe it’s time to try a different approach.

“Okay, just, look. Let me go, man, I don’t want the bite. I gave you what you needed, let’s just go get Derek.”

_ Lie.  _ He doesn’t need werewolf senses to hear how loud his heart is beating, it thumps in his ears with the force of 1000 drums.

“I thought I told you,” Peter says, running a claw up Stiles’ back, tearing through his shirt with the ease of a blade through a tender piece of meat, “not to lie to me.”

“I’m not lying,” he protests, hoping to god that if he says it with enough force that it will trick his brain into thinking it’s true. “I swear, I don’t want the bite. Don’t do this.”

_ “Tsk, tsk,” _ says Peter, walking around to the front of the bench, straddling it and kneeling down to get Stiles on eye level. “Look me in the eyes, with a steady heartbeat. Say you don’t want the bite, and I’ll let you go.”

Stiles jerks his chin up, locking eyes with Peter, who has chosen this moment to let his cold blue eyes bleed into red. Stiles had never noticed the transformation in Scott, used to the fast flickering of brown to yellow, but in Peter, the red crawled in from the edge of the iris like blood. Peter holds his gaze, eyes sparkling with mirth and something like happiness.

God, the sick fuck, he’s getting off on this.

“I don’t...want...the bite,” Stiles says slowly, spitting in Peter’s face. He’s silent for a moment, and for a stupid, fleeting second, Stiles thinks Peter might let him go. But then –

“You really shouldn’t have done that.”

Peter is back behind him in seconds, ridiculous werewolf powers making Stiles seem weak once again. A claw slices through the back of his pants, shredding them, and Peter’s hands snake around his waist to lift his hips. Deftly, he undoes Stiles’ belt, and all but rips his pants off. His boxers don’t provide any sort of shield between Peter and his dick, or his ass, the fabric easily torn beneath the werewolf’s hands.

“Peter – stop, stop! Come on, why are you doing this?”

“You want the bite so bad?” A long, yellowed nail drags itself across Stiles’ cheek, making him shudder. “Consider this my price.”

“I said that I didn’t –”

“Stiles, Stiles. Listen,” he says, draping himself over Stiles back, getting a hand between his ass cheeks, rubbing absentmindedly. It’s gross, but Stiles is a 15 year old boy, and can feel his dick strain against the bench. “I’ve seen you with your little friends. You’re not the good boy, like your buddy Scott. You’ll do what needs to be done, without compunction. But you have two weak spots: Lydia Martin, and Scott McCall. Aren’t you sick of being the weak human? Don’t you want to protect them?”

“Being another human doesn’t make me weak,” he grunts, desperately willing his dick to shrink back to softness. How does Peter know exactly where to get at him? “Besides, Scott’s a werewolf, Lydia’s – if she, fuck, if she lives – anyway, they don’t need me.”

“But you need them,” Peter states, matter-of-factly, using a nail to shred through the bindings. Stiles immediately makes to buck his body up, to get off the bench, but it’s useless against Peter’s alpha strength, a hand on his shoulder slamming him back down with a touch that seems far too light. “You need them to protect  _ you.” _

“I don’t need shit, Peter.”

“Oh?” He grabs Stiles’ hips, moving them backward so that Stiles’ dick and balls sway dangerously in the air, his waist on the edge of the bench, the cheap plastic digging into his belly. “Then why are you bent over under my hand, if you don’t need protection?”

“Because you’re a sick nasty fuck!”

Peter laughs.

“Maybe. But what about your father?”

“What – what about him?”

“Doesn’t he need protecting? Aging, single, and you’re so worried about his health…”

Shit – exactly. He runs through it in his mind again. Scott didn’t need him. Lydia – if she came out of this – wouldn’t need him either. Allison, also a human, had like an Olympic gold medal in archery or something, and Jackson was physically stronger. Stiles was undoubtedly the weakest link. And he didn’t think being a human made him  _ weak, _ but Peter had gotten him right in his Achilles heel. He’d already thought of this, but hearing it from Peter’s mouth made things all too real. He  _ did _ need to be able to protect his father.

“Fine. You wanna fuck some 15 year old human, you sick fuck, do it. And then give me the bite.”

Peter laughed again, and the sound was really starting to grate on Stiles’ ears.

“You think this is about you? Your age, your species? This is about power and control,  _ boy. _ There’s a reason I’m the alpha. I don’t hate you. In fact, I like you. I like your wit, I like your loyalty. I wouldn’t just offer anybody the bite – you’d be  _ my  _ beta, after all.”

He didn’t want to be  _ anyone’s _ beta, but – if that’s what it took. He  _ wants _ the fucking bite, dammit, wants to protect his father, wants to – to get the goddamn girl, he’ll admit it. Scott wakes up one day without any asthma, gets to lose his virginity, get first string in lacrosse, and Stiles has...none of that.

“Fine.”

“Fine, what?”

“I said fine, do it. I already said that.”

“No,” says Peter, sounding way too delighted. “I want to hear the words ‘Peter, fuck me.’”

“You’re disgusting, dude.”

“Sure,” shrugs Peter. “I don’t need to be told that by some human boy. And I don’t particularly care. Say it, or the deal is off, and this will go on longer, and I’ll let Derek continue to get tortured, and that endangers Scott. So…”

“Peter…ugh.” It’s like pulling the words from his chest physically, a ball and chain. “Peter, fuck me.”

“Beautiful,” he says, running a clawed hand down Stiles’ cheek again. “You’ve never done this before, have you?”

Shit. He scrambles in his brain, forcing himself to think the next sentence true.

“Of course I have.”

Peter shakes his head, then grasps at his balls, making him cry out.

“Told you not to lie. So you are a virgin. And you also don’t particularly seem like the kind that likes to be on the bottom, huh? You’ve got a nasty little dominant streak. That makes this even sweeter.”

“Will you just – fuck – get on with it?”

“Oh, gladly. I thought you might at least want lube.”

“Oh, sure, wine and dine me too while you’re at it.”

“Gladly,” Peter says, a knee grinding into Stiles’ back as he unzips his pants and pulls them down with an inhumane ferocity. Stiles’s cheek presses against the bench where his head is turned, the pattern of the slats branding itself into his face.

Peter sticks his fingers in his mouth, sucking loud enough for Stiles to hear without seeing. Disgusting.

The spit is barely anything, and Peter’s fingers make Stiles shriek in pain, a sound he doesn’t think he’ll ever stop hearing, a tape with jacked up ribbon playing over and over. It  _ hurts, _ a pain he can’t describe because he’s never felt it before. Three fingers with no preparation, and his body is all too aware that something is in his body that just shouldn’t be there.

_ The bite. Just think about the bite, this is all worth it. _

“You don’t have to struggle, you know,” says Peter. “I can feel you, hear you. My senses are so much stronger than yours. Yours will be too, after all of this.”

“Nnngh, just get on with it, Peter.”

“In due time,” he says, sawing his fingers back and forth. “Would you be enjoying this more if  _ you _ were on top?”

“Fuck you.”

_ Yes. _

“I do so love that I’m your first, Stiles. First to have you, first to be inside of you, nobody else gets that honor. Just submit to me, and this will be easier.”

_ “Submit?” _ he asks, wanting to spit again, but not risking it. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, dude, I’m not going to be your little bitch.”

Peter  _ tsks _ again, finally seeming to find the spot in Stiles’ ass that he’s been looking for, pressing down and jerking his fingers to hit it over and over. Stiles can’t help it: he’s a horny teen boy, and his prostate is being stimulated. His dick finally reaches full hardness then, grating on the ridges of the bench. He lifts his hips to at least let his dick flop against his belly, but it just drives Peter’s fingers in further, and he lets out a stunted moan.

“That sounded satisfying, though. You’re doing so well, opening up for me,” he croons. “Shall I praise you? Will that help?”

“Nnnngh. No.”

“Hmm. That wasn’t a lie,” he considers. It wasn’t. There was no telltale heartbeat rush, no skip on the precipice of the lie. He doesn’t want to be praised, he wants Peter to finish, to receive the bite, and to be sent on his merry way. “Pity.”

There’s a grating darkness to Peter’s voice when he says it, words that should sound apologetic and remorseful, but instead sound all too pleased.

“Yeah,” Stiles snorts, reverting to sarcasm, which has always been his first line of defense. “Pity, huh?”

“Mmm,” Peter considers, and then in a flash he’s being flipped onto his back, met face to face with the man. His eyes still glow red in the dimness of the locker room at night. He hadn’t bothered to turn the lights on, not needing them with his senses, but Stiles’ eyes have adjusted by now, and the lights are on in the fields outside, filtering through the window.

Unfortunately, there’s more than enough light to see what’s going on.

“I think you’re ready, Stiles,” he says, pulling out his cock and stroking it with a big, dumb grin on his face. God, this is nowhere close to how he’d pictured his first time. It would be him, Lydia Martin, candlelight, maybe a little smooth jazz, or something, not alone and cold in a locker room with a man that’s nearly old enough to be his father and teetering on the precipice of rape. He reminds himself that he technically agreed to this. “Good boy.”

“I think –” Stiles starts, but it abruptly gets cut off to a scream as Peter rams inside of him without warning.

“Shit,” he hisses. “You’re so fucking tight.”

Stiles can’t tell if that’s a good or a bad thing.  _ He’s _ not the one with the ability to hear heartbeats and brainwaves, or whatever the hell Peter can do. He can’t really think much at all, only able to scream to divert the pain to somewhere else in his body.

“Quit your screaming, you pathetic human,” Peter rolls his eyes, slapping him across the face. It stings, and bowls Stiles over with the same whiplash Peter switching from praise to sudden degradation does. What the hell is he playing at?

“Maybe spend some time with some foreplay and I wouldn’t be – AGH – in so much pain!” His voice sounds nearly unrecognizable, tinged with a gravely edge that’s never come out before. But then again, he’s never been in this situation before.

Peter continues to thrust in and out of him, and the edge of his hole burns; a muscle pain, worse than any lacrosse injury, any trouble he’s ended up in as a dumb kid with ADHD.

“You speak of pain, Stiles, but I don’t think you’ve ever felt it.”

Peter trails a hand up his shredded shirt, finally getting it all off, to run a claw over his nipples. He hates the way they harden, involuntarily responding to the stimulation. He isn’t enjoying this,  _ he is not enjoying this. _

“What do you know?”

“What do  _ I _ know?” Fuck, Peter’s laugh is starting to grate on him, Pavlovian in the way it makes him recoil. He clenches, and it makes everything worse, and he lets out a hiss.

“What do  _ I _ know?” he repeats and Stiles would roll his eyes if he weren’t in too much pain to remember how. “I was forced to watch my perfect sister grow up and take the alpha status from me that I so rightfully deserved. I was forced to suffer through a fucking house fire while the rest of my weak family died around me. I don’t mourn their losses, Stiles, death is only a setback for the weak. Its release makes the living stronger, but know this: I felt my flesh burn from my body, stripping to my marrow, crackling and bubbling and running from red to black.”

Peter knows he is being dramatic, but it’s worth it to see the horror in Stiles’ eyes as they go as round as saucers.

“So I think I know a  _ bit _ about pain,” he smiles. “But I’m happy to show you more.”

“Uh – no,” Stiles quickly scrambles to say. The way his heart beats so erratically is delicious, cats on a hot tin roof. It’s not the beat of a lie, just the beat of a scared child. A shame, really. Peter  _ likes _ Stiles. But he likes power and control more. Dangling the bite over him like Eden’s apple is just too enticing to resist.

“A shame.”

He pitches his voice softer again, the stench of Stiles’ annoyance coming through clear and strong. He feels so deeply, it’s endearing, really. Reminds him of his nephew, that little girlfriend he had been ready to lay everything down for. How charming.

_ I’m doing this for the bite. It’s for the bite, for dad, _ Peter can hear Stiles muttering under his breath. It’s cute, really, but Peter has no intention of giving this boy the bite, no matter how much he likes him. He’s got what he needs, and he has a feeling that dangling this over the boy will prove useful for quite a while, long after tonight.

“Let’s play a game, Stiles.”

“Man, what is this, Saw? Can you just get on with it?”

“Gladly,” Peter smirks, picking up the slow, lazy rhythm of his thrusts to faster again, in and out like a sputtering freight engine. A noise comes out of the back of Stiles’ throat, and Peter can feel how overwhelmed he is, his body seizing minutely in places no human would be able to feel. Stiles is tight, as any virgin would be, but he’s warm and it feels so  _ good. _ Fucking dry shouln’t feel like this, but Peter is so fucking turned on by how Stiles is completely under his thumb that it doesn’t matter. The pain Stiles must be feeling makes this as seamless as any healthy, tender sex.

Ah, it had been so long since Peter had been with somebody. All those years in a coma, only able to move when he had enough strength for the shift. His nurse had tried, but he hadn’t been strong enough in body to be inside her cunt. Stiles little boycunt all but made up for that, though.

He wanted the girl Lydia to be his first so badly, and now that would never happen. Lydia – the girl who was key to everything. The banshee, not that she, or anyone else knew it. When she was healed – immune to the bite – she would be the one who held his memories, the one who brought him back to his full strength. He’d have her, too.

Stiles should thank Peter, really. One day, they could bond over what it was like to have him inside of him. The more he thought about it, the further he shoved inside, deeper, letting a claw shred up Stiles side, watching the blood run into the little rivulets on the bench. Let Stiles think of that every time he came in here to change, his naked body never feeling safe amongst his teammates ever again.

“I really do want to play a game, though,” he says, tapping his chin. “Let’s do this: I’ll ask a question, you will answer, and everytime you lie, I’ll let a part of myself shift. You better hope I don’t reach alpha state, Stiles. Your human body isn’t made to accommodate a werewolf’s knot.”

Fear creeps into Stiles’ face, then, but he was quick to hide it. Kid was conniving, he’d give him that. If Peter hadn’t been watching, he’d say he wasn’t scared at all. But he can feel the rush of blood in his veins, the way his heart beats in his chest.

“You’re lying. I can’t hear your heartbeat, but you don’t knot, like a dog. You’re just trying to scare me.”

“Are you willing to test that statement?”

Peter tilts his head, watching, and all Stiles can do is gape like a fish.

“So tell me, Stiles. Are you jealous of Scott?”

“No.”

_ Tha-thump – tha – thump. _

“Liar.”

Peter lets his fangs elongate then, leaning down, keeping his hips moving, and sinks them into Stiles’ neck, enough to break the skin. Stiles is clearly trying very hard not to scream, Peter can feel the small vibrations in his throat, and it only eggs him on, as he laps at the blood like some sort of starved vampire.

“Lies will cost you, Stiles. Try again: are you afraid of me?”

Peter can practically feel the gears turning in his head as he struggles with whether or not to state the truth. A lie would cost him, but the truth was so much worse to a prideful person like Stiles.

“No.”

_ Tha-thump – tha – thump. _

“Wrong choice, Stiles.”

He lets the beta shift come over him, his claws lengthening even more, his nose flattening to a snout and hair running down his face, his arms. With it, he loses himself in his head, the animal hindbrain talking over his human thoughts.

Stiles looks back at him, keeping his eyes right on Peter’s sanguine gaze. The kid didn’t have a submissive bone in his body: Peter would have to force it out of him.

“One more time. Think very carefully. Tell the truth, and you won’t have to experience the pain of my alpha form. Do. You. Want. The bite?”

This time, Stiles doesn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

_ Tha-thump. Tha-thump. _

The boy didn’t lie.

But Peter had already decided what he was going to do regardless.

“I’m so sorry, Stiles,” he says, his voice coming out in a terrible double-timbre as the alpha clawed out of his chest. “I value the truth, but two lies out of three is a majority ruling.”

“Hey –” Stiles starts, protesting, trying to move himself backward and force Peter out of him. It’s futile, though: Stiles’ strength is nothing against Peter’s, and he slams a hand – barely a human thing anymore, over his shoulders, pressing him back into the bench. Only one arm is needed to keep him down, despite the way he struggles so beautifully.

“You wanted the bite so bad? You need to remember who’s on top of the pack.”

And with that, his body twists, bones shifting and cracking to expand into the form of a wolf, a hulking, non-human thing. He crouches on his hind legs, but still towers over Stiles, back hunched and snout snapping, tasting the scent of trepidation on the air.

He can’t speak in this form, but he doesn’t need to: he’s set on one goal, and both he and Stiles know what it is.

He had already been close before shifting, having moved in and out of Stiles the whole time he was tormenting him. The scent of fear on the air was that much stronger in his animal form, and it didn’t take long for him to begin to feel the expansion of his knot at the base.

“What the –” Stiles starts, screaming in pure, unadulterated pain. It was no longer fear: his body was simply not made to hold the knot of a fully grown alpha werewolf.

Stiles can feel the cum inside of him, filling up and he feels bloated, like this can’t possibly continue, but it does. It’s hot and grating, and the knot feels so unnatural, the sensations are so overwhelming. Darkness dots his vision, meeting in the middle like curtains closing on a stage. He barely feels his own cock spurt weekly, spraying onto his stomach from pure overstimulation, before he passes out.

* * *

When Stiles comes to, Peter is back in his human form, pulling on his pants and shrugging into his leather jacket.

He’s still on the bench, but he finds himself nearly too weak to move. He can feel cum leaking out of his ass, dried on his stomach, and blood from his wounds trickling down his side. He rolls his head toward Peter.

“Did you do it? How long will I have to wait?”

Peter laughs, long and slow, and Stiles blood runs cold.

He never should have trusted this man.

“No,” he says, but Stiles wishes he would have just left. It feels so much worse stated out loud. “I got what I came for. And it really is high time I rescue my nephew.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Peter snorts.

“Did you really think I was going to give you the bite?” he asks, running a thumb down Stiles chin. He wants to spit in his face, but doesn’t have the strength. “I only wanted to have a bit of fun.”

When Stiles finally manages to get out an answer, his voice shakes in anger.

“You sick fuck.”

Peter shrugs, and god, Stiles wishes he had the strength to do something.

“Why tell me something I already know? Goodbye, Stiles. I’ll be seeing you.”

Peter makes for the open window, but Stiles calls out.

“Hey! I’m – what about me? My clothes?”

Peter chuckles again, and Stiles thinks that he never wants to hear somebody laugh ever again in his life.

“This is a locker room, is it not? Find some clothes and your way home. I’ve got my betas: Derek and Scott. Why don’t you worry about whether or not Lydia Martin survives?”

She would, but it was nice to hear the boy’s heartbeat jackhammer with anxiety. With new vigor, sated by orgasm and power, Peter leapt out the window and into the night.

No one was around to hear Stiles’ sobs.

**Author's Note:**

> i normally post my "problematic" fics to an alt account, but like, whatever. this is tagged properly, and tbh, this probably isn't the fandom for you if you can't take dark themes in fiction. anyway, if you enjoyed, comments and kudos are super appreciated. and if you didn't, please just hit that exit button.


End file.
